“What’s odd?” “Oh, everything!” She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known.
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